A Journey Home
by Entwife Incognito
Summary: First person narrative, Lisbon's POV. Sort of a tag for 707 'Little Yellow House.' One-shot. Rated 'T' for mild situations and references, some bad language. Disclaimer: I own nothing about The Mentalist, nor do I profit from writing these stories.


You can go to hell. Charging at me with brass ovarios? Like I don't have a pair. I mask my thoughts from the entire bullpen. This FBI attorney bitch is outing my family business in public, sneering at me. Even Cho reacts to her bully tactics and Jane stands to take up for my brother, Jimmy. Well, really for me. He gives a small, fake smile that withers when she turns her back. I'm so god-damned embarrassed.

Inside, I'm sinking. Yeah, Jimmy, turn yourself in so you can truly get fucked over by this asshole and her crew. But, whatever Jimmy did or didn't do, it was just stupid to stiff the FBI. Jimmy and Tommy. Such fuck-ups. Stan's the only one of us who has a full life. Wife. Kids. His own contracting company. He hates me, of course. They all do. I shouldn't have left them after I graduated high school. They obviously needed me. I was selfish. But I had to get out and try to make something out of my own life. And I'm doing well. But at their cost, maybe. I feel like shit whenever I think of them. It's hopeless. And I still have to clean up the messes.

Draining pale, not embarrassed red. It helps me not to look at anyone. Just coolly get my jacket and meet Jane in the break room to tell him I'm leaving. I don't quite get the surprised look on his face. There are other things to think about.

Jane starts helping right away, helping me think through where Jimmy would have gone to hide. I need the direction.

Great. Now Abbott's in on it. Vega and Wylie could have let me tell him. Stepping into the break room, he tells me his experience as the oldest. Family first. What a sweetheart. He gives me courage and clarity to see what I need to do, takes away the guilt of leaving the team short-handed.

Very short-handed, it turns out. Never occurs to me that I'm not alone anymore, and it takes a few words from Jane to understand that he assumes he'll be going with me. My eyes averted, I give him the standard brush-off without thinking, then the equivocal come, if you want to. I'll do it myself because it won't be any fun for you. I think he's a little hurt. He wasn't looking for fun. He asks point blank if I want him with me. I'm glad he pushes because I find I want him with me more than anything! Why didn't I just ask him myself? He is my full partner, my lover and friend, who has my back in every situation. Wants more than anything to have my back. And when he puts his hand there to walk me out of the bullpen, he's protecting me somehow and I don't even mind.

Jane's happy fantasies do not match my own memories of my childhood home. I brush his admiring words off as over-politeness. Only one thing matters. Get in. Get out. It's a place of unhappiness that I left behind decades ago. He tries to draw out my feelings, but I ignore him just as I will ignore this house as I walk through it. Right now I don't care that to Patrick it represents so much, a life that he never had. I go in because I have to. It's business. Jane wanders into everything and I can only imagine the pleasure he finds in whatever he's nosing. He heads for a box of my old junk and then wants to tour my old bedroom. Whatever. I don't want to notice anything except a clue whether Jimmy is hiding out here. Beer and pizza says yes, so I search the house for him. He's not here now, and I'm ready to leave.

Something is slamming into walls in my old room and I come running, shouting for Jane. I recognize fear in his tone, saying, "No," in the pleading voice of a child about to be hurt. My stomping up the stairs, hollering, sends an intruder out the window to escape me. But I only care about the man who still cringes on the floor in shock, his breathing yet in recovery. I'm so flushed with adrenaline, my small fingers can't figure out how to hold his big hand, so he just covers mine completely, comforting me to assure that he's fine. If it wasn't Jimmy who attacked Jane, who the hell was it?

Visiting Stan is an exercise in unreality. He's all sharp edges, but I can't figure out what they're about. My boyfriend with me? His anger at my long uncommunicative absences? Am I intruding somehow? Surely he understands why I have to be here, for our brother, for Jimmy.

Joey looks so sweet in Karen's arms. Fondness turns to embarrassment for not realizing Joey is much older now. This is a new child. And an even fresher newborn cries in the crib upstairs. I feel ashamed for Jane to see the truth of my lack of connection to my own family. Even he knows there's a newborn. How? Did I tell him, then forget the child myself? And the new one in-between? For a moment I feel like crying. The loss of my family is a raw abyss of a wound.

Woody Squires? What the shit, Stan? Avoidant with a tinge of frantic, he's trying to distract us from something by inane chatter, harping on pimply old boyfriends. Woody is not real, a conglomeration of the worst points of all my boyfriends to torture and embarrass me with. High school shit. Ha ha. Woody squires. I'm sure Jane gets the pun.

So far, Stan has dissed Jimmy as dumb and me, for being a cop. His eyes are frozen innocence when he offers that the guy who attacked Jane must have been looking for Jimmy. Then tattles on Jimmy, all wide-eyed, for gambling at cards again. Goddammit! They're up to something and shutting me out as always. The alien. The substitute parent. I'll never overcome the stigma of the role I was forced to play.

What is this bland inquiry into Stan's booming business, Jane? If he senses something off, he's hiding it from me. Patrick is extra cagey and calm. What's he doing?

Change of subject when we stand to go. Christening? Yeah, okay. I've got a job. Predictable, Stan guilt trips me as if it's not important enough to me. Says he has a job, too. Gut punch. I'm speechless and feeling the pain.

He disrespects me to my face. He disrespects me in front of my boyfriend, a stranger to him but obviously important to me. There's nothing I can do but apologize to Jane, who makes me smile by flea-flicking my mess of a family, and liking me messy inside. I remember he once said, "Messy women make good lovers." I feel lighter as I get into the car while he hangs back to talk to Wiley on the phone.

I have to smile when Jane looks up a call from Jimmy on TJ's lifted phone. TJ's a good kid. When I let him know it's urgent family stuff, he caves and gives me enough to know where my brother is. The old fishing spot on the river where my dad used to take us kids.

More lip from Jimmy when we find him. It hurts so bad and makes me so angry, it's hard to look at him. Asshole. I'm sad and embarrassed, but at least I don't have to explain how it is with my family. Jane is seeing the florid parade for himself.

Jimmy's surprised what Stan has already told me. Then he gives me the old standard for mom and dad, "I don't know." Pain in the ass. Things heat up and Jane asks to talk to Jimmy alone. Fine. I'm not getting anywhere.

I don't know what Jane says. But at the end, Jimmy's all docile and shaking hands. He's going to come in. The fuck? I watched them the whole time. No way Jane hypnotized him.

And first thing he does is walk over to Vega and hit on her. Typical Jimmy. Wiley looks stricken, gut-punched that someone's moving in before he's had a chance to secure her as a girlfriend. I've still got that sharp big-sister command, and dislodge him from her desk in a flash.

I start an official interview and Jimmy starts with the sass right away, landing me a good one about making a trek for a good poker game in my youth. But when we meet with him as a team, Jane forms a strategy. Tells Abbott, we're going to need some real money to get in on a poker game with a mobster. Things have changed so much, it's almost funny. Abbott basically says, how much?

After mobster reconnaissance with Cho, he and Jane meet with the team again. Jane says they've got the wrong bait for the guy. When I ask what bait he needs, he puts on a sappy grin under amused eyes. Crap. I don't know what's coming, but it's sure to involve my sorry ass.

When Patrick dresses me sexy for a con, it ups my game. He makes me look so great I want to touch myself in front of a mirror. When I look up, Patrick smiles slyly at me. Either he's having the same fantasy or I'm exuding sex and pheromones from every pore with my thoughts.

The black leather mini warms my hips and belly, leaves my legs bare and cool. I can use the ventilation.

I walk in like I own the place, find the mark and start the con. Jesus, I'm good at this now. And Jane sure knows how to dress the bait. The mobster can't keep his eyes off me. I know it's my job, but this feels good. In spite of the situation, it's a rush to watch Jane saunter in, the sunlight striking his hair like gold. Showing the mark, I'm his.

Our banter could have been about anything, but the sultry familiarity of it affects me the most. It's really us, so of course it looks real to the mark and works like a charm. High stakes poker, here we come!

Stan's wife, Karen, sounds desperate, terrified. She would never have called me, otherwise. Thugs showing up to beat up Stan? When I talk to him I know he's lying like a rug, covering for Jimmy. We're way past that now. Jimmy's ass is mine and he's in the next room! Damn if he doesn't start lying, too.

When I give up and beg, my sisterly concern finally reaches him. Stan's not protecting Jimmy. Jimmy's protecting Stan. A loan shark. Part of me can't forgive Stan for letting his brother take the fall in all of this. I'm so disappointed and confused. Why would they go so far to keep me out of this? I'm their big sister. I want to help. I'm supposed to look out for them. Why didn't they ask for my help in the first place?

Jimmy says it's because Stan wants me to be proud of him, not think of him as another screw-up brother. How can they think I would ever not be proud of them? Jimmy gives it to me crushing straight: I'm only there to yell at them when they screw up. That's why I think of them as screw-ups. I don't tell them when they do good, achieve something. I just figure they should, they're happy about it, they don't need me, and let it slide. I avoid the tension among us by avoiding them. Why make them uncomfortable by being present?

That's what I tell myself. But I know it's because I know they hate me. They must, they couldn't love me. Because I abandoned them, left them behind on their own, to chase a dream to make something special of myself. And the guilt eats me every day. I let them down so bad. Every time I see them, they tell me how much they hate me. I can barely face them.

I try to make Jimmy see. I had no choice but to take on the parenting role. Nobody else was doing it. I don't say it to him, but I did it because I love my little brothers. When it was time, I had to take care of myself, too. They hate me for it. Yes. I was glad to get away. And too ashamed to contact them after that, except when I had to.

Jimmy is brilliant, drawing in the poker players for Jane's con. Perfect, so far.

Jane and I are in the Airstream, waiting for the word, to get started. I couldn't be more depressed but I try to cover for it and stay busy fixing my makeup and my black leather mini outfit. I do look fine. But Patrick and I are way past this frail subterfuge.

He sees my distraction, the frantic pain underneath my façade. This beautiful man, who loves me more than his own life, reaches out to me, a reminder that I'm not alone anymore. He's here. And he sees me, sees the context of me in my family better than I can. He sees I'm blinded and rigid from pain and guilt. His words and his beautiful, caring face heal something that was broken inside me. Makes me see that my brothers love me. That they wouldn't even be here if I hadn't loved and protected them. Patrick made it so simple. They miss me. They want me in their lives so much. They're just hurting, too, not because I abandoned them so much anymore as I didn't come back, that I avoid them. What are they to think? That their big sister doesn't really love them, only wants them to be good, to not embarrass her by fucking up.

It never occurred to me that the brittleness of Stan's façade is because he's hiding something, not because he's trying to bottle the hate that wants to come out. Apparently, Jane picks up on it right away. He's looking out for me. He's looking out for my brothers. He sees things I can't because I hurt too much going in to even take another look.

It's okay. It's good that Patrick kept this knowledge a secret from me. I love him for it because he is protecting my family by keeping the situation from me, knowing I would have to take official action. And setting up this con to catch the real killer will end the whole investigation with everyone intact and free. I couldn't love this man more for his secrets and plans tonight.

When we stand, I don't let him get out the door, but wrap my arms around him and squeeze, laying my head against his broad, protective chest. I think we are one, always in each other's corner no matter what is going on.

Our con goes perfectly and the killer is caught. It makes me so proud of Patrick. Vega and Wylie's set-up was perfect. And Jimmy. He was flawless. And now he's free of any official interference.

What a beautiful christening! Patrick and I are family, at this family event. I'm so glad we made the return trip, that Patrick made it possible for me to be here in happiness. Afterwards, the picnic is almost pastoral and the light on the scene turns reality into dreamy impressionism. Stan jokingly accepts my offer of financial help. He tells me he's proud of me and the nourishment of my brother's love makes me feel bubbly. Jimmy says he wants to hang out more. Then, so it doesn't get too syrupy, they bring up Woody Squires and they're my bratty little brothers once more. But so much more.

They make a point to give the seal of approval to Patrick who is happily playing with the kids and babies. This man. Nothing makes him light up more than children. I love him. The knowledge fills me with a soft radiance, combines with the glow of how very much he loves me, wants me in his life. I think he would want me to give him children. And I would be so happy to have them. It's a gentle realization for a sunny afternoon with family in the park at a christening. It will change my life.

When we're alone, watching everything from our picnic table perch, I start to tell him. I want to say it and he doesn't want me to stop, or do something that diverts me. I can tell when he says he doesn't know everything I think. Exuding expectant tension, his held breath is cautious encouragement to continue, he wants to hear those words, very much. Actually waits with baited breath. He wants me to say it. I do. I love you. Awkwardly, of course, with a nervous, wordy introduction that should prepare him. But he's not quite prepared and says I've surprised him. I love that. And we both laugh. I'm proud of myself. We're us.

The way he makes love to me is different tonight. His approach is fuzzy, experiencing me, my body. He's not focused on driving me to the pinnacle of a mountain of orgasms. I love his receptive urgency. He is feeling me with everything he has. Silent, swathed in something worshipful that lives in his skin, his fingers, his mouth. His cock is an instrument to return, amplify, the love I declared. Pleasure is inherent, a fruit of love, smooth and quiet in heaving breath and our soft musical cries. We honor a great gift, in a rare dialect of lovemaking. When we come, I'm so in awe of this love I almost miss that I feel frightened, too. I've never been this close to any man, clinging to him as I say his name over and over, ready to cry because I can't actually get inside his skin. He tries to bridge this impossible barrier, kissing my face all over, holding just as tight and whispering my name into my ear. He knows what it's like to be afraid that love will make you fly apart.


End file.
